


The Brotherhood of Tracy

by Alternate_Reality1



Category: Thunderbirds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-07 01:27:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternate_Reality1/pseuds/Alternate_Reality1
Summary: A collection of stories concerning the brotherhood of Tracy - their relationships, love for one another, trials and tribulations.  Sappy I know.





	1. Boys Who Never Grew Up

Scott ran his tongue over his teeth, checking for any loose or missing ones. All there, as far as he could tell.

His brother Virgil, sat across from him, was performing his own checks, gingerly gritting his teeth together and rolling his jaw, testing it was still connected. He took Scott’s hand and examined it for any breakages. He was less than gentle when holding the ice pack to the elder’s knuckles – a fact acknowledged with a wince and a hiss.

“Sorry,” was all the medic could say.

“No, I should be sorry,” Scott mumbled, sniffling slightly, a little congealed blood crusting on his upper lip the evidence his nose had been bleeding.

Virgil sighed, his anger melting into sympathy. His left eye was already beginning to swell. “I should be the one to apologise – I shouldn’t have called you an arrogant, self-centred hyper freak on steroids.”

“And I shouldn’t have compared Two to an arthritic one-legged turtle on valium trying to climb a glacier.”

Scott snorted a laugh. Virgil pressed the ice pack harder. Scott hissed, then flinched slightly as his breath whistled through a cracked tooth. Another trip to the dentist needed.

“Still,” Scott conceded, “that’s one mean right hook you have there, Virg.”

Virgil stroked his own jaw subconsciously and shrugged. “Must run in the family.” He didn’t have to look up to see the crooked smile streak across Scott’s face.

At the doorway, John and Tin-Tin stood watching, leaning against the frame. Maybe it was the lack of the Y chromosome that excused her from understanding the ways of men. Living with seven of them, she would have expected to declare herself a master.

“How can they be _laughing?_ A few minutes ago they were trying to tear each other to pieces.”

John managed to cover his snort with a cough. “Tin-Tin, when it comes to men, you’ve got to be one to understand one. Those two though...” He shook his head. “You won’t live long enough to even scratch the surface. They’re... _boys who never grew up_.”

Tin-Tin smirked. Guess he had a point.


	2. Blood is Always Red

I can’t believe Dad has turned his back on him.

After all we’ve been through, all we have experienced together, pulled each other through. Lived through, and very nearly died for.

Family.

_Our_ family.

I’m seething. No, I’m beyond seething. I’m shaking with anger, disgust, disbelief. A red mist has enshrouded me, and it’s choking.

I lean forward into his personal space, making sure our eyes engage. For what I’m about to say he needs to hear. Not just the words, but the emotion.

“He’s still my brother.” The statement is flat, monotone, but underscored with raw hurt. I lean closer, so only he can hear. I'm promising him my next words will haunt him to the core. 

“He’s still my brother, even if he’s _not_ your son.”


	3. Fate Versus Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks for the views and kudos! I love receiving them.
> 
> There is a mild bit of profanity in this one (one word), but I think it's forgivable for the subject. Just a warning.

When do you stop fighting for a brother?

The moment he slumps against your shoulder as you carry his injured form to safety?

The brief measure of time when you call "John?" by his ear, and receive no response?

You jostle his arm higher up onto your shoulders to better the iron grip you have on his body. There is no groan of pain, no flinch, no complaint. Do you resign your battle then?

The sharp stab of terror that strikes your heart still as his breathing ceases. Does it kill your resolve?

"No no no no no... Come on, John. Don't do this to me you _bastard_..."

The way you drop his body to the floor is panicked, ungentle. You'll apologise later when he's sat in the medical bay chewing you out about the ache in his shoulder and back from the impact. But you won't apologise for the impending bruises and broken rib you're about to inflict performing compressions on his chest.

Is it the bile that rises in your throat that presses you to consider ending the struggle? Or maybe the gargle that bubbles in John's throat as he lays sprawled out in front of you, limp, vulnerable, _lifeless_ , cold?

Is it the icy wave of shock that whispers in your ear, 'let him go. He's dead, dead, _dead_...'

NO!

You smack away a stray tear that has the nerve to flow down your cheek. _You're not leaving me to tell Scott I couldn't save you..._

So when do you stop fighting for a brother?

When Hell freezes over.

When the moon crashes into the sun.

When there's not a breath left inside your own body to offer to the brother you love.

When you don't see a gasp erupt from his lips as he claws for his own unaided breath. When his heart – the heart filled with so much love and patience and understanding and need and hope and protection and _family_ – when his heart beats within, with the power and intensity of a million stars.

When you don't stop rallying him to breathe and wake up and show you his ocean-deep, soulful, ultramarine eyes. When you don't anchor yourself to his shoulder with an iron grip so tight you almost wrench it out of its socket.

"That's it. Breathe, Johnny. _Breathe_."

You never stop fighting for the ones you love. You never give in to Fate and it's temptation of forgiveness for surrender. Because while Fate may forgive you, the ghost of memories and love lost never will.

The memory of a weak smile. The memory of a comforting hand reaching up to pat a cheek by a washed out grin. The memory of a whispered gratitude that pushes a tear to fall.

"Thanks, Gordon."

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Long time no post. Truth is my writing brain hasn't been with me for a while, hence why I have decided to try my hand at writing short one-shots to kick-start my interest again. 
> 
> I do not own any of the characters I have borrowed to write these stories - they all belong to ITV and all respective owners. These shorts haven't been beta read, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Enjoy!


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